


Geralt has eyes, but He can’t Fucking See

by Panda_Manda_szup



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF! Jaskier, Ciri has the brain cell, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff and Humour, Geralt is oblivious, Jaskier will stab a bitch, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Feral Bastard, Spy! Jaskier, Yennerfer just wants some sleep, no beta we die like the mages in Sodden
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23661817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panda_Manda_szup/pseuds/Panda_Manda_szup
Summary: Geralt believes Jaskier to be a bard. An annoying, loudmouth, flirtatious bard, with the ability to charm and sing his way to courts and beds, and the skill to get into an unholy amount of trouble, while sometimes coming off it relatively unscathed. Geralt sees Jaskier as a performer and friend who can bandage wounds and play a song, and maybe throw a punch if he’s being really generous. That’s about it.But oh, Jaskier is so much more than that. He’s the White Wolf’s Bard. He’s Dandelion, the troubadour. He’s an Oxenfurt professor. He’s a court minstrel. He’s worked as a spy. And by gods, he can do much more than just throwing a punch.Jaskier the Bard wields weapons and wisdom as well as he does his lute and voice. It’s just too bad, that literally everyone in Geralt’s life realises or knows this, except, of course, Geralt himself.((A collection of ficlets featuring our Himbo Witcher and our Feral Bard))
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 71
Kudos: 403





	1. Ciri

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic, hope I don’t do this fandom shame. Really, this is just me indulging my need for other characters to interact with feral Slav bastard Jaskier, that’s all.

Geralt paces the floor, walking from the bedside desk, to the dressing table, to the flaking wallpaper adorning the walls near the door frame, and back to the dressing table. He does this for about 3 minutes, before Ciri throws a handful of raisins at his face with dead-eye accuracy. 

Grumbling and flicking off the dried fruits out of his hair, the White Wolf halts in his unintentional efforts to wear down the floor boards, and stares at the Lion Cub of Cintra, sitting on Yennefer’s bed. The girl snorts.

‘He’ll be fine. He’s a bard! He’s played at court a lot of times— Mousesack told me that bards like him can always talk their way out of trouble. Stop being such a worried ass’ Ciri says, hands lazily stretching to stuff a handful of raisins and nuts into her mouth, before going back to sewing Geralt’s shirt.

The Witcher stares at his Child Surprise, hands as delicate as a queen, and mouth as brash as Calanthe. Truly an heir to Cintra.

Geralt sighs and leans back on the dressing table. ‘The last time I went to a party with him, a fair few people died.’ He bit back on mentioning that said party was Pavetta’s betrothal, but Ciri knew enough to understand the implications.

‘Jaskier’s not like you or Yennefer. He doesn’t have magic to defend him, and his title often brings him trouble more than pleasure. The fool is going to get himself caught up in something. Should have made Yen go with him.’ he grumbles.

‘The only thing _you_ feel is the worry that you won’t be able to save him. Like I said, Jaskier can get himself out of trouble. You made him take Yennefer’s charm, remember?’ 

That, he did. When Jaskier mentioned to his friends that he was called to perform at another royal banquet slash gala, he insisted that he went alone, since Geralt would bring too much attention, and the court he was gracing just so happened to have a slight distaste for the Sorceress.

_(‘Figured as much. Not my problem the Lords didn’t like my methods’ Yennefer commented, violet eyes amused and thundering.)_

Geralt, on the other hand, silently brooded on the fact that the gala was near Nilfgaard forces, and wanted to at least stay outside the palace vicinity, if not to ensure Nilfgaard did not capture the bard and use him as blackmail.

Much discussion and persuasion later, Jaskier was off to the gala, lute on his back, a brilliant red and silver doublet paired with his signature smile, and a small, discreet crystal charm around his neck, if and when he needed a quick way out.

Yennefer portalled him off, and with that, their merry band of 4 became 3.

Ciri sighed and looked at Geralt with honest eyes. The Witcher moved to the girl’s bedside and leaned against the wall.

‘Mousesack told me that some bards kept knives and arrows on the spine of their lute, and that they could get rid of any intruders at a moment's notice. I don’t think you realise how capable Jaskier is. I trust him.’ The princess said, a hint of a smirk tugging her lips.

It was at that moment that Geralt apparently thought, ‘fuck it’, and hauled himself out of the room.

‘I’ll go get us our dinner, and supper too, if Destiny is being considerate.’ He grunted out, before storming out of the bedroom.

Ciri tilted her head towards the door, listening as Geralt stalked out onto the hallway. He heard him stop and grumble more, and a feminine voice replied back. Yennefer walked into her bedroom a moment later, looking a tad puzzled and annoyed.

‘What’s gotten his breechers in a twist? You nag at him to teach you how to use his swords again?’ The witch said, before stopping all of a sudden, and looking at her feet.

‘How did you get raisins all the way here?’

Ciri smiles cheekily, sitting up properly to hug Yennefer. She offered the mage the rest of her bowl of trail mix, before going back to repairing the shirt.

‘Geralt was being a worry rat again. Insisted that you should have followed Jaskier. He was annoying me, so I threw some raisins at him.’

Yennefer laughed, and inspected the girls handiwork.

‘I would have gone, but I’m just about done and sick with courts, and I’m afraid I may as well bring more trouble to the bard.’

Ciri flopped backwards on her pillow, and looked up at the mage.

‘You do know about Jaskier being a Bard, right? Like, the ones that do more than sing and dance.’

Yennefer hummed slightly, and lied backwards on her bed frame. 

‘I have a slight inclination, but I’ve never gotten any confirmation. I’m rarely wrong, though.’ she said, with a small grin. Ciri giggled and slid closer to her.

‘When I was young, my grandmother would always talk about ‘the Bard’. I learned that a bard was an entertainer, who played at taverns and balls.’

‘But then, I was also told, on rare occasions, that a Bard could also act as a king or queen’s personal spy, going to a rival kingdom’s court and getting information. Mousesack taught me that the best Bards knew how to say and sing just the right words, and knew when to disappear as if they were never there in the first place.’

‘Then, one day, when I was out in the courtyard, a servant came up to me. Asked me if I wanted anything to snack on, and said that I had to drink lots of water since it was summer time.’

‘I didn’t want to, but I did want a snack. So I followed the servant to the edge of the courtyard where there was a little table, where my grandmother used to sit with her advisors and ambassadors.’

‘I was about to drink from the cup that the servant gave me, before someone shouted for my name. I didn’t know him back then, but I’m pretty sure it was Jaskier. He called for me, and told me my grandmother was calling for me. So I put the cup down and went off.’

Ciri stared at the ceiling of the bedroom, and then looked back at Yennefer. The mage had a contemplative look to her, as if guessing where the story would go next.

‘Let me guess, the servant was actually going to poison you, and Jaskier came in to save the day.’ Yennefer eventually said. Ciri nodded her head.

‘Someone like that. I found out later on that it was supposed to drug me into a deep sleep. Apparently, after I left, Jaskier talked to the servant, and found out that someone outside the kingdom had paid him to drug me.’ she said.

‘Grandmother wanted to cut off his head, but found the servant with a slit throat. She was kinda upset she didn’t get to kill the person who tried to kidnap me, but I guess she owed Jaskier for that one.’

This startled Yennefer. She looked back at Ciri with an incredulous look.

‘The bard killed him? I thought he only talked to the servant to confirm the queen’s suspicions.’

Ciri shrugged. ‘Grandmother just said that she didn’t get to kill him. Only that the Bard did.’

The 2 of them laid on the bed for a while, before Ciri bounced back up.

‘I _do_ know, that he has worked with my grandmother more than once. She never liked music or poetry, but she always wanted the upperhand in most things. Having a Bard like Jaskier happened to give her just what she wanted, I guess.’ she said, bouncing up and down on the bed. 

Yennefer looked at her for a while, and tried to imagine Jaskier threatening a castle staff because they bore ill intent towards the lion cub. She grinned.

Jaskier was already doing that for Geralt, it wasn’t hard to think he’d do the same for the princess.

At that moment, she felt a tug, as if someone was calling her. Quickly, she centered herself, before extending her slender arms and allowing the air to shift in her bedroom. Ciri gasped as a portal shimmered and formed before them.

Jaskier jumped out a second later, landing one foot on the mage’s floorboard, before using that as a pivot, and spun around. A “fwip” was heard, and the bard’s right hand flung towards the portal. Ciri heard a thud coming from the other side, before the air shifted once more, and the portal closed. The 2 females stared at Jaskier panting, before he stood up and said ‘HAH!’ 

Ciri rushed out of bed and hugged his side, pretending not to notice the bard sliding a thin throwing knife back into the folds on the side of his doublet from his left arm. Yennefer walked towards him and cocked an eyebrow.

Jaskier, the little shit, batted his eyelashes.

‘What? I followed a circus troupe for a couple of years before. They taught me how to throw knives.’

It was at that moment that the trio heard Geralt calling for Yennefer about dinner from downstairs. Jaskier grinned.

‘Oh good, I’m starving. The gala was a shit show. I did get my coin though.’

*

Later on, Yennefer would find out that the lords who disliked her magic had died from an unfortunate mix of bad ale and contaminated food. With one having a thin knife lodged into his throat.


	2. Eskel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And that, that is the thing that cements Eskel’s impression of the bard. That Geralt obviously was not telling him as much as he should, because holy hell, this little stick man just decapitated someone like it was nothing

Eskel dragged himself along the trail that the townsfolk told him about, one hand gripping a cloth sack with the head of a kikimora in it, the other clamping down on his right abdomen. Fucking monster bested him in the middle of thier fight, stabbing down with its spindly leg. The Witcher did not want to think of how much of a pain in the ass it would be to pick out bits and pieces of the monter’s leg in his wound.

‘Fuck.’ he says. Shuffling towards the end of the path, he could see the alderman that hired him to slay the beast, as well as the handful of townsfolk that gave him directions and cries of help. He could see the moment their eyes widened and cringed. He could hear the sharp intakes of breath and the bile-like taste of fear from them.

He could also see the moment where the alderman decided that he would not be paying the Witcher his full price. Son of a bitch.

Huffing, he dropped the cloth sack with the beast head in it and sagged on the signpost that indicated the beginning of the forest trail he used.

‘It was a kikimora, not a drowner. I couldn’t find the body; the beast would have eaten it before I got the chance to.’ he said, levelling his breath and attempting to hide his wounds from the crowd. The alderman sniffed distastefully.

‘Of course you couldn’t. Didn't even complete the contract. Leave the beast’s head on the ground. Be off with you then.’

Eskel eyes widened and a growl tore out. ‘We agreed on a price. I got rid of your monster problem. You never mentioned anything about not paying just because I didn’t find the stableboy’s body.’ 

The alderman and his townsfolk pretended not to hear his outcry. One of the alderman’s helpers went to grab the cloth sack with the kikimora head in it, before crying out loud as his wrist was snatched mid air and twisted backwards.

Jaskier twisted the man’s hand a bit more, before leaning forward.

‘Well then. Pay up. And while you’re at it, as the innkeeper to call up a bath in my room. I’ll pay when I get back.’

The townsfolk stared at the bard, eyes gaping at the lean brunet settled his gaze hard on the alderman. The man opens his mouth to say something, before Jaskier shoved the wrist he was holding backwards, roughly. The bard strides forward and meets the alderman right in front of Eskel.

‘You heard me. Or do I have to turn it into a ballad for you to get your shit together?’

Slowly, the crowd dissipates. The alderman shuffled backwards, hands unwilling to let go of the brown sack of coins he hid behind his back. Jaskier rolled his eyes.

Crossing his arms, the bard smiles wide. Baring his teeth, there’s no warmth in that smile. Nor is there any coming from the glint of a small knife he has in his right hand, seemingly materialising out of nowhere. The alderman gulps.  
  


Eskel watches in awe as Jaskier indirectly says how his next song would be about a nobleman who refuted good work and had balls the size of blueberries. Within moments, Jaskier has the sack of coins in his hand, and the other helping Eskel up. The alderman unceremoniously runs back, and Jaskier shouts at him to make sure his room in the inn has the bath ready.   
  


Seeming satisfied, Jaskier turns towards the Witcher. Eskel is not as large as Geralt, and not as stoic, so it doesn’t take too much haggling for him to get Eskel to accept his help and move him into the inn. If the innkeeper had any problems with it, Jaskier didn’t give a shit.  


*

‘Let me see that gash. You said it was a kikimora, correct?’ Jaskier asks, hands automatically grabbing his satchel with bandages and ointment. Eskel barely nods and just manages to lift his arm away from the offending injury.

The bard frowns. ‘Uhm, hello, earth to Eskel? That is your name, correct? I don’t know many Witchers, but Geralt did mention yours and another wolf’s name I believe. It is Eskel, right? You seem nicer, more willing to listen to others. Geralt spoke of Lambert like he’s a temperamental ass that could also slice off a nekker’s head without blinking. All in good nature, I assure you.’

Jaskier waited for a while, waited for Eskel to come down from his shock and high. The Witcher seemed to relax at the mention of his brother's name, and sighed.

‘Yes. It’s Eskel. And you’re no doubt Geralt’s bard, hm? I see you live up to your barker-like reputation.’

Eskel eases into the chair he was sitting on, and Jaskier laughs. ‘Ah, yes. I’m the White Wolf’s Bard. Glad to hear Geralt remembers me when I’m not there to announce my presence.’

The 2 men go back to silence once more, as Eskel attempts to remove his shoulder pads and back strap. Jaskier restraints himself from intervening for a grand total of 2 seconds, before rolling his eyes even more and standing up. 

‘Are all Witchers determined to aggravate their wounds more by removing their armour by themselves, or is that just a Wolf school trait?’ he asked, staring at Eskel, as if challenging him not to ask the bard for help. Daring him.

Eskel licks his dry lips, not used to this...aggressive way of being asked if he needs help. Hell, it’s not even a question. Jaskier doesn’t wait for a response and immediately gets to work on removing every buckle and sash, placing his 2 sword scabbards on the bed and gently peeling off his leather vest. Eskel watches in a dazed sort of wonder as the bard gets all the body armour off him, before unbuttoning his cotton undershirt, so that he could wash the wound without bloody fabric stuck on it.

‘You got any Kiss or Swallow left? I can’t tell if it’s the kikimora bits stuck in your wound that’s stopping you from bleeding out, or if it’s just your blood congealing fast enough.’ Jaskier asks, analysing the situation as if he’s done so a thousand times.

Which he has, Eskel realises. With Geralt.

The Witcher is not so much shocked at a mere bard’s knowledge of Witcher potions, as he is realising that a hot feeling in his chest is beginning to bloom. Geralt must have suffered like he does all the time, except, he’s had the fortune of having a healer with him. One that does not fear him, or hate him for what he is.

‘Eskel, I swear to Melitele, I will slap you if you start daydreaming again. Kiss, or Swallow?’ The bard barks, clearly done with the Witcher’s shit.

Eskel mutters an apology. ‘I have some Kiss on the side pocket attached to my chest plate.’ he says, heading nudging towards one of the leather armour pieces. Jaskier lunges over and grabs the bottle, and Eskel gratefully drinks the bottle. The next few moments are spent with the hunter tensing and gripping the fur blankets on the bed next to him, while the bard tends to his wounds, limber finger gently removing shattered kikimora bits and washing the wound, applying salve and stitching the injury close in a steady way that Eskel could never. 

‘There we go, good as n- ah, well, not new. New scar? Not that that’s anything new. Geralt accuses me of being a magnet for trouble, but he gets new scars as often as the botanist grows new patches of buttercups. Littered across his body like pink roses with thorns, scattered in a feel of peach tulips.’ Jaskier says, standing up and stretching after being crouched down for so long.

He leaves Eskel near the bed, and goes over to check that the bath water hasn’t cooled down completely. The Witcher runs a dried bloody hand across the bandaged area, feeling the stitches in his side. 

He turns to Jaskier, and says ‘Thank you. I understand now why Geralt couldn’t rid off you. No one has ever threatened to slap me, and proceed to stitch me up. Really, Jaskier, I..’

The bard smiles, and this time it’s filled with warmth. Eskel feels that same hot feeling in his chest, and it lingers this time.

‘It’s no sweat off my back, really. I keep telling Geralt, I would love to-‘

_“THUNK”_

Something flies into the room, and both men barely register the arrow that was shot through the inn room’s window, before the door bulges inwards. 

Eskel scrambles for his swords, but he’s too late, the door caves in, and 2 men barge in, bearing knives and daggers and-   
  


And Jaskier rips the arrow off the wall it has embedded itself into, and proceeds to shove it into the eye of the man nearest to him. 

Stepping one side, Jaskier gets low and shoots his leg forward, sweeping the already injured man to his back. A glint is the only warning Eskel gets before Jaskier slits the throat of his attacker. 

Meanwhile, the other man steps over his fallen comrade and lunges for Eskel. The Witcher rolls onto the bed, and winces as he feels the stitches pull his skin. He grabs his spiked shoulder pad and uses it as an impromptu boxing glove, smashing the attacker’s face full force, hearing bones crack. He stumbles back, and Jaskier unsheathes Eskel’s long steel sword, and in one fell swoop, decapitates the man. 

The bard steps backwards, gripping the steel word, knuckles white. Eskel rolls off the bed and lands on both knees. 

He eyes the bard, and is taken aback at the pure, hot white fury that it holds.

‘Eskel. I’m borrowing your sword for a while.’ Jaskier says, before stepping out of the tavern inn. 

In all honesty, it probably wasn’t a very good decision, given the fact that another wave of attackers could easily barge in now, but the injured Witcher was on guard now, his daggers at his side and his silver sword ready to be unleashed.

He doesn’t know how long it takes, but Jaskier returns, making sure his presence is known, and that Eskel knows he means no harm. The bard returns with the Witcher’s steel blade just a tad more bloody than usual, and Jaskier’s shirt seeing better days.

‘Fucking no good piece of SHIT alderman. He saw your injury and pretended not to give a flying fuck about it. Absolutely ludicrous. As if. Should have known better than to send untrained buffoons to kill us. And really, who stations an archer on the roof of a bakery. What, are you going to shoot breadsticks at us once you run out of arrows? Why the fuck did you leave your quiver on the edge of the roof? A fucking pigeon could knock it over...’

Jaskier continues on with his annoyed complaints about sub-par assassination, concluding that the alderman who wished them death clearly deserved an arrow up his ass, but alas, he begged the bard to leave him, even payed him to do so, and ensured that their night in the inn would be safe, so Jaskier held back. Barely.

‘By the way, here's your sword. Sorry about that whole ordeal, I’ll clean the mess up while you take a bath. I wasn’t planning to sleep the night anyways, wanted to leave this shithole fast. Folks here don’t know how to appreciate true classic songs. Holler if you need help with washing.’

And that, _that_ is the thing that cements Eskel’s impression of the bard. That Geralt obviously was not telling him as much as he should, because holy hell, this little stick man just decapitated someone like it was nothing, and proceeded to take out MORE people, while Eskel laid half naked in a tavern room. This bard is fucking insane, and where can he get one of his own?

He stares, and coughs out an incredulous laugh. Jaskier stops midway from nudging the 2 dead bodies out of the room, and frowns.

‘Eskel, I _swear to GOD_ , I’m serious. I’ll slap you with this dead man’s head if you don’t snap out of it and go take a bath’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier was in town getting new clothes. Just his luck that Destiny decided that he needs to be around to take care of some wolves.


	3. Triss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triss once again pondered on how a mere bard had such an extensive knowledge of poisonous plants. The bard and her had spent the better part of their dinner discussing rare flowers that could make the best mixes of teas, to the deadliest vials of poison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to showcase a different side of our favorite feral boi, featuring a peculiar knowledge in something that he definitely has never needed to use. Nope. 
> 
> This chapter is more tone down. Also, Triss has plant allergies. If the wiki doesn’t say so, then I will.

The air shimmered and shifted, as if liquid glass was being poured into a rotating circle. Triss stepped out of the portal she created, and took in a deep, deep breath, enjoying the scent of nature and blue skies around her.

Then she started coughing.  _ Hard _ . Forgetting that she was probably allergic to  _ something _ in this flower field. 

Triss stumbled and managed to place the woven basket she was carrying on the green grass underneath her, before doubling over and wheezing. She coughed, dry heaved, and placed a hand on her chest, before muttering in Elder.

A warm, yellow glow wrapped around her chest, and the mage groaned with comfort. Triss had to memorise this spell every time she left the castle, less she ends up having an allergic reaction to everything.

‘Fucking _Foltest_ ’ she grumbles, not bothering to check if anyone heard her. Insulting the King could mean treason, and while Triss was working on her own agenda, she’d much rather be on the good side of Temeria’s court, thank you very much. 

Silencing her grumbles, Triss took out the pair of leather gloves that were in her basket, and began to work the flower field that she landed in. Being both a mage and a proficient healer, Triss busied herself most days with restocking her stock of flora required for potions and medicines. Which would not be such a pain, if it weren’t for the fact that the healer herself wasn’t allergic to the very plants and potions she had to make. The magical ones, at least. 

Triss continued on her path, eyes scanning the multicoloured grounds for her desired pick. Passion Flower, Chamomile and Yarrow were amongst the plethora of flowers she had to pick out today. Walking along, her eyes caught the sight of vibrant magenta with white-tipped tendrils, and Triss walked towards a bush of Passion flowers within her reach.

Naturally, this was when the ground decided to cave in, and the sorceress yelped as her feet sunk into an empty pit, her cornflower-blue dress flailing slightly from the drop, before Triss unceremoniously hit the ground. 

Gasping and scrambling to get up, Triss took account for her surroundings. Around her was a worn out hunter’s net, the camouflaged intertwine rope frayed and knotted, ripped open where Triss had fallen. Triss cursed in realization. Of course, _of_ _course_ she just had to portal to an area with an abandoned hunter’s trap, meant for innocent deers and rabbits to come frolicking in the flower filled field. She bore a sorrowful glance at her basket, half filled with medicinal plants that were crushed or bent during the fall.

Suddenly, Triss could hear rustling from above her, a shuffle of feet, and she raised her hands, summoning the Chaos inside her, ready to strike with the roots that spiralled the hole she was in.

‘Hello, someone down there? Better not be a wild boar or anything. I don’t think animals can scream like that.’

Triss furrowed her brows, before relaxing at the sight of a tuft of brown hair matched with a baby blue doublet and a lute strapped on his back. A bard.

‘Yes, hello, no worries. There is definitely someone down here, and I’m not a boar.’ Triss replied, before a rope slinked down into the hole she was in. The bard peeked over and flashed a winning smile.

‘I am Jaskier, a humble bard that sometimes goes by the name of Dandelion as well. Now, why would a fair maiden such as yourself be stuck in a pit meant for someone’s dinner?’ Jaskier cheekily asked, hands clenching the rope he brought. Triss rolled her eyes.

‘Triss Marigold, court mage of Temeria. I don’t intend to be anyone’s dinner, but I would not object to buying you one, as a gesture of thanks.’ she replied, grateful that she brought her leather gloves, as she began shuffling to stand up, and pull her weight on the rope.

Suddenly, Jaskier tensed, inhaling sharply. His eyes narrowed, and scanned the pit Triss was in.

‘Don’t move, you’re going to loosen the soil. Look.’ he said, and the mage braved to turn her head to where the bard was indicating.

Surely enough, the hole she was in had peaks of dark purple flower heads sticking out of the disturbed ground. More than that, snowflake-like flowers were scattered on the ground as well, some managing to fall on Triss’ basket.

The mage looked back at Jaskier, clearly confused as to how flowers could bloom under a trap like this. The bard caught the puzzled look on her, and said ‘Some hunters would place certain poisonous plants in their traps, in order to help subdue any animals. There is a trick where rival hunters would intentionally poison an animal, so that when someone went to claim their prize, they’d have to forego it.’

Triss nodded, surprised that Jaskier knew about it. ‘I assume this must be Nightshade, then? But where are the berries…’ Jaskier shook his head, cutting her off.

‘The purple ones are called Monkshood. Don’t touch it, keep those gloves on. Touching it barehanded can lead to asphyxia and numbness. A king wouldn’t want a mage who can’t breathe no more, no matter her enchanting looks.’ 

Triss widened her eyes, head swivelling between Jaskier and the plants. She’s heard of the flower, of course, but only for its nickname as the ‘Devil’s helmet’. Triss heard Jaskier move above ground, before his hand peaked downwards, and offered her a vial and a handkerchief.

‘Take this, and drink it, then wrap this cloth around your face. It’s a general antidote to most poisonous flowers, but the cloth should help ensure that it’ll filter out any unwanted pollen.’

Triss nodded, and drank the clear liquid, praying she wasn’t allergic to this one as well. When her throat didn’t tighten, she wrapped the handkerchief around her face, before bending down to grab her basket.

Jaskier pulled on the rope, and the mage stumbled away slightly. He hissed, and shot her a glare. 

‘I said not to move. Forget the basket; those little white flowers? Those are White Snakeroots. I’m guessing you were picking out medicinal plants— hate to break it to you, but these buggers would do the opposite. Had an aunt that died from milk sickness because she drank the milk from a cow that had eaten the flower. Bloody pricks, white snakeroot can shove it in flower hell.’ Jaskier grumbled, before readjusting his stance and grip.

‘Alright, my lady, you’re going to have to climb up on areas where the footholds seem solid enough. I’ll guide you, take it slow.’ the Bard said, and for the next minute or so, Triss listened to the sing song voice of Jaskier leading her footsteps, occasionally complimenting her blue dress and chestnut hair, before hauling her up with surprisingly sturdy arms. 

Triss untied the handkerchief and patted herself down, while Jaskier kept the rope he used and rolled it into a neat bundle, clipping it to the side of his lute case. The mage took a minute to look at him, before breaking into a smile. 

‘Thank you, Jaskier. I owe you more than just dinner. Please, if you ever find yourself in Temeria, call for me.’

Jaskier smirked, and offered her his hand, before replying. ‘Of course my lady. Though, I have a feeling you’d indulge me in any favor regardless, since you’re already friends with Geralt of Rivia.’

Triss stopped, and once again found her staring back at her saviour. Jaskier kept the grin, before Triss gasped.

‘The White Wolf’s bard, of course. No wonder you’re so prepared to help someone out of a ditch.’ 

Jaskier laughed, and the pair walked towards a village nearby. 

*

Inhaling the savory broth like it was the much needed breath of fresh air, Triss once again pondered on how a mere bard had such an extensive knowledge of poisonous plants. Jaskier had helped her collect some flowers for the potions, offering the leather pouch he used to keep parchment and quills as storage. The bard and her had spent the better part of their dinner discussing rare flowers that could make the best mixes of teas, to the deadliest vials of poison. 

‘Oh! Your last name is Marigold, correct? Very apt for a healer indeed, considering the medicinal uses for it. Not to mention-,’ Jaskier said, winking at the mage, ‘-it’s warm, earthly beauty.’

Triss smiled. ‘Quite the flirt, are we? You have a way with words, it’s a wonder you’re traveling with the Witcher. He’s as talkative as a Venus fly trap.’

Jaskier laughed at that, making a mental note to incorporate that into a future ballad (after he finished the one he was currently composing, featuring a beautiful flower girl with healing powers. Jaskier liked Triss much more than Yennefer already).

The tavern keeper shouted for the bard, and Jaskier nodded before standing up and grabbing his lute. ‘The good work of a minstrel never ends.’ he sighed dramatically, before reaching into his lute case and bringing out a single, yellow bell flower.

Daintily, he reached over and gave the flower to Triss, who was amused. She cocked an eyebrow at him, and Jaskier winked, before breaking into song with a voice that could cure any cold.

She would later come to find out that, in other parts of the Continent, Buttercup was a renowned troubadour and singer, who had the habit of placing dandelions on pretty young girl’s head, and shoving nightshade petals down the throats of no-good men who so much as laid a finger on them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I a botanist? No.  
> Could Triss have saved herself? Sure.   
> Am I writing this because I am convinced Jaskier has murdered someone with flowers more than once? Fuck yea


	4. Lambert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lambert let his rage come out, spitting venom in each word. Under normal circumstances, he would either restraint himself to the point of being not too loud and annoyed. If not, he’d shout and let his temper be known to whoever was on the receiving end, and the person would either cry, run, be stunned with shock and fear, or do all 3 in no particular order.
> 
> So when Jaskier bitch slapped him across the face, that was a first for Lambert.

He didn’t need help, and if anyone had told him that he, in fact, _did_ _need help_ , he would tell them to go fuck themselves.

So yes, Lambert absolutely did not need any help fending off the poor milk maiden from the tangle of tree vines and branches, while simultaneously trying to kill the harpy that was circling them.

He didn’t need help. _He wasn’t going to get help_.

Lambert growled as he rolled and dodge, the Cat potion running its course in his veins, making him the Wolf that he is, lashing out at the thick jungle vines that trapped the poor girl in place. How the fuck did the harpy even get their claws on her? 

Nevermind that, how the fuck was he supposed to make sure the girl didn’t fall to her death, before being clawed to death?

The harpy screeched and swooped down, taking advantage of a clearing of vines that Lambert chopped off. The Witcher used the milk maiden’s screams of terror as a catalyst for his fury, and leapt up with his silver sword, stabbing into the underbelly of the harpy as it glided downwards. The creature flailed wildly, and Lambert took the opportunity to swing himself onto the one of the harpy’s wings. Within moments, he plunged his sword downwards, and both hunter and hunted crashed onto the forest ground.

Which was when he heard the snap of branches and vines, and knew that the chances of him being blamed for the milk maiden’s broken leg was high.

Lambert shot out of his trance and raced for the girl, who was gripping the vine from which she was hung on. He extended his hands, attempting to wordlessly assure the girl that he’d catch her-

Before the acrid sting of fear hit him, and he realised the Cat potion hadn’t worn off yet.

The girl screamed and tears flowed from her red, plump face. Her fingers loosened, and her grip failed, and she shot downwards a bit before stopping. 

Lambert swore out loud and snarled. Manners be damned, how did the girl expect to come down safely if she was scared of the very person who was trying to save her?

Just his luck, he felt the scent of another human running towards him, no doubt another pissbaby villager who wanted to give him more shit. 

So he was slightly, albeit suspiciously surprised when he didn’t get double the stench of fear, when Jaskier ran in front of him and under the girl, as if Lambert wasn’t there.

‘Hey hey it’s okay, it’s okay! L-look at me, alright? You beautiful, brave girl. You have to let go, less you want those tender hands rough and scarred. I’ll catch you, alright? You can trust me.’ the bard said smoothly, extending his arms just like Lambert did.

Only this time, the girl stopped screaming, and the acidic stink wore off slightly. Nodding minutely, she braced herself to let go of the vine, and Lambert rolled his pitch black eyes as Jaskier caught her bridal style, the young girl clinging onto his neck and wetting the dusty grey doublet he adorned. The bard merely smiled, and stroked a hair in the girl’s messy bun.

‘Alright, see? Like catching snowflakes on a chilly Yuletide’s morn. You did so well, my fair maiden. Go, now, your family is waiting. And make sure to tell the Lord that the Witcher caught the harpy!’

Lambert startled at this, not knowing what to make off Jaskier’s care for him getting his coin. The milk maiden curtsied and thanked both of them profusely (mainly Jaskier, but she did nod towards Lambert), before taking off, back to the village.

The Witcher huffed, and got back to work on sawing off the harpy’s head. Jaskier was not amused.

‘Do I not get a word of thanks? Good job on the harpy, though, they’re like the griffin’s annoying younger sister. I’m Jaskier, by the way.’

Lambert didn’t give a flying fuck on who he was, not that he didn’t know. But the Witcher was still fuming, and whipped around to snarl at the bard. Jaskier merely blinked.

‘I didn’t need your fucking help, and what do you know of harpies and griffins? Get out, bard.’ he shouted, whirling back to slice off the harpy’s head. Lambert angrily stuffed the monster's head into a sack, and marched towards Jaskier.

The bard simply waited for him, keeping a small smile on his face. 

‘At least allow me to ensure you get paid your full price. I have quite the talent for that, you know.’ he smirked, and Lambert _snapped_.

‘Oh, because you don’t think I can get paid without the aid from a fucking minstrel? Why, is it because the black eyes would make grown men piss in their pants?’ he shouted, shoving Jaskier aside. Placing the harpy’s head on the ground, Lambert grabbed Jaskier's face roughly.

‘I’m not Geralt, I won’t get tricked by your word games, bard. If the girl refused to allow me to catch her, then let her suffer the consequences. I don’t need your _PITY_. I’m not your White Wolf, and you don’t get to play me like everyone else, you _fuck_.’

Lambert let his rage come out, spitting venom in each word. Under normal circumstances, he would either restraint himself to the point of being not too loud and annoyed. If not, he’d shout and let his temper be known to whoever was on the receiving end, and the person would either cry, run, be stunned with shock and fear, or do all 3 in no particular order.

So when Jaskier bitch slapped him across the face, that was a first for Lambert.

Squirming out of the Witcher’s grip, Jaskier stared at him, cold and unamused.

‘How dare you. How  _ dare _ you insinuate that I’d trick Geralt, that I’d take him for a fool. How  _ dare _ you think it’s ok for a girl to just fall and get injured, as if it’s her fault. Well, okay, it technically is, since she refused to be caught, but you could have at least just waited for her to eventually slip. Even open your fucking mouth to say something. The harpy wasn’t going to go anywhere. _Honestly_.’

Lambert stared at him. As if Jaskier had grown another head. As if Jaskier hadn’t just back hand _slapped_ him. The sting on Lambert’s cheek was nothing compared to the pure shock he felt.  


The bard had the audacity to _snort_ , and turned heel to walk back towards the village. Or, he was, before he glanced back at the Witcher.

‘You intend to stay here until the Cat potion’s run its course, don’t you?’

Jaskier stood where he was, feet planted, waiting for Lambert to respond. The 2 men stayed like that for a while, one unwilling to admit that they didn’t want to head to the village looking like death, the other being too stubborn to care about the other one’s ego.

Eventually, Lambert relented, Jaskier reaping a silent victory. The Witcher resorted into awkwardly crouching on the forest ground, while Jaskier leaned against a tree.

‘You’re not scared of me when I look like this. I assume you must have been around Geralt like this couple of times?’ Lambert asked, breaking the silence. The bard hummed happily.

‘Not really, actually. Geralt’s good at being quiet, _too good_ actually, so he tends to stalk off after a hunt to let the potion wear off. I’ve only managed to catch a glimpse of him like this when it’s about to wear off, but I know he’s sensitive about it, so I don’t push too hard. Yet.’ Jaskier answered, cheekily grinning at him. Lambert pretended not to give a shit, but his face must have given him away, for Jaskier continued to talk.

‘I knew about the side effects of the potion. I’m quite glad I got to catch you like this, actually; oh the songs in my head that I could spin out are magnificent—  _ eyes like the window to midnight, with power and might swimming underneath an ink black sky _ …’ he continued dreamily. 

The Witcher, surprisingly, kept his mouth shut, and didn’t say anything more. Probably because he didn’t know  _ what  _ to say. Lambert had never come across anyone outside of Kaer Morhen who didn’t glance at his face without stepping backwards, or spitting on the ground. He was so accustomed to the stench of fear surrounding him, that being next to Jaskier felt like a breath of fresh air, of pine wood and summer dew. 

*

The 2 men eventually made it back from the forest, and Jaskier had taken the liberty to pass the harpy’s head to the nobleman that hired him, and Lambert got his full pay. If the bard looked smuggled about it, Lambert resisted the urge to punch him.

He made his way to the opening of the village, before 2 men stopped him. A father and his son, it looked like, and they barred his path with crossed arms and unhappy looks. Lambert sighed.

‘What do you want.’ he asked, too tired to give a shit. The father, a stoic man almost as large as Lambert, raised what looked like a wooden bat. The son circled around him, not so discreetly hiding his grip on a rock.

‘You,  _ mutant _ , you scared the living shit out of my daughter. She ran back crying and hysterical, blabbering about seeing the devil’s eyes. I demand compensation.’ the father spat.

Lambert sucked in a deep breath and tried not to scream. He wasn’t in a forest, alone with Jaskier. There was a crowd surrounding them. He would like to leave the village without spilling blood, thanks. 

‘Pardon me, my good fellow, but Lambert here saved your daughter. Helped liberate her from the tangle of vines and branches that imprisoned her, all the while dealing with your village’s monster problem. I’d say you owed  _ him  _ compensation.’ Jaskier quipped, strolling up next to the Witcher. 

The son, in his younger twenties, snarled. ‘You spout biased claims, you  _ Witcher’s whore _ .’ 

Then Jaskier punched the boy’s face, breaking his nose, and sending him staggering.

All hell broke loose as the father pounced on Lambert, swinging the bat wildly, pummelling the Witcher. Lambert, on his part, did not wish to slice the man’s head off, since he was already being accused of being a devil, but he didn’t have to.

A high kick to his back sent the father winded, and Jaskier rammed into the man, knocking him off Lambert. The Witcher barely realised what was happening before Jaskier elbowed the father in his gut, shoved his body under him and flipped the older man onto the ground, before wrenching the wooden bat out of the older man’s grip, and smacking him across the face. 

His face kissed the dirt next to his son, who was staring wide-eyed at the bard.

Jaskier flipped the bat and pointed it to the crowd.

‘Anyone else wants fucking compensation?’

Growling, Jaskier threw the bat on the ground, hard, and Lambert used what little sense of self-preservation he had left to grab the bard and run out of the village

‘What the fuck was  _ that _ for?!’ Jaskier yelled, shrugging off the Witcher’s grip once they were out. Lambert stopped, and planted 2 firm hands on the bard’s shoulder.

‘You’re fucking insane, you know that? What the  _ fuck _ , do you do this with Geralt all the time?’

Jaskier smiled a toothy grin, and Lambert would later find himself camped outside the village, waiting for Jaskier to come back from getting his belongings under the angry villager’s noses, before sharing a warm fire with him.

‘Hmm..’ Lambert muttered, and Jaskier perked up, all too used to Geralt’s favorite way of responding.

‘I just realised. Today was the first time someone outside of the school slapped me, waited with me, and fought someone off for me. Does Geralt know you can fight?’

Jaskier, the fucker, simply grinned, and Lambert realised that the bard  _ must  _ have tricked his brother, if only on the aspect of him ‘only being able to throw a punch’. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We talk about Jaskier stabbing and shit, but what about pure bitch slapping? I had yet to read a fic where he does it, so I guess sometimes I gotta take matters into my own hands huh


	5. Yennefer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer stared at Jaskier, a matter-of-fact tone not quite matching his outfit, but perfectly framing his gaze. She thought of the stumbling man-boy that she had to heal, the quivering lark that screamed Geralt’s name whenever he was mildly inconvenienced. 
> 
> Seems like she’s not the only one being able to play a pretty face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know anything about Redania's geography. I merely spammed thru the wiki and took whatever scraps of knowledge I could understand and shoved it in thie chapter. Enjoy.

She didn’t know if it was because of the djinn’s wish, or if it was because Destiny just  _ loved _ being a nuisance to her, but Yennefer realised that her quip about not being able to get rid of the first Witcher she met, might also extend to the bard that came with him.

Or maybe that’s just because Jaskier, _ a la Destiny _ , loved to bring annoyance and exasperation to her life.

Like a cruel twist of fate, the mage had found herself restless, unable to settle down, unable to relax and close her eyes for a moment. When Jaskier had found her staring holes into her glass of honey wine in a local tavern that he had just finished performing in, he took a deep breath and made a guess.

‘Could it be, that you find yourself not being able to sleep?’ Jaskier asked, absentmindedly swirling his mug of ale, keeping a keen eye on the sorceress. Yennefer groaned and ran a hand over her face.

The last thing she needed was to find some other dangerous, magical method to get some sleep. Yennefer was no Geralt of Rivia, _thanks_.

‘If you’re done mocking me about my lack of rest, Jaskier, you could make yourself useful and be off with it. I do not wish to adorn the same crow’s feet you have.’ Yennefer said snarkily, sassily smirking as Jaskier gasped dramatically. While the 2 were not completely close friends, they had bonded over travelling with Geralt once or twice, seeming to share an affinity for discussing how dense the Witcher could be.

‘You should be the one to come off it, really. Why the lack of beauty sleep? You don’t seem to be worried about angry noblemen or evil mages, and I’m  _ quite _ certain our brief interaction isn’t enough cause for your discomfort.’

‘Oh, but then again, maybe you’ve realised you actually  _ can  _ be a bitch, and you're having a mid-life crisis!’ Jaskier cheerily said, escorting her out of the tavern, after paying for both of their drinks. Yennefer shot him a glare, with no actual real heat, but she allowed her violet eyes to flare for a moment.

Jaskier shrank a little, and Yennefer smugly continued their walk.

‘You’re one to talk about being a bitch, _bard_ , though I would not be surprised if you found that to be one of your _oh so_ endearing qualities.’ she said, feet not really walking anywhere. They were in a small town in Redania, surrounded by a vast daffodil field, where there was a slight hum, a touch of magic in the air. Nothing too serious, of course.

‘Well, yes, of course I know that. It’s part of my ‘stubborn bard’ package. But you’re not answering my question.’ Jaskier said, leading them towards an empty patch in the daffodil field.

Yennefer looked at the bard, and for a while, she forgot what it was like to have someone casually care for her. Someone who, by all means, had no reason to work with her, had no Density-bound bond causing him to.

‘Can’t seem to give an answer for that. I just want to sleep, that’s all.’ the mage shrugged, folding her legs inward as she sat down on the grass and flowers around her.

Jaskier snorted, completely ruining what little sense of peace she felt. 

‘You? The great and powerful Yennefer of Vengerberg; Sorceress from Aretuza? Not having an answer? Oh, now I  _ must _ commit this to song!’ Jaskier grinned, and had the notion to reach for his quill. Yennefer had half the mind to turn him into a toad—

Then she felt a tug. Like a sense of  _ ‘knowing something’ _ dawning before her. 

And a young girl landed on the daffodils in front of Jaskier and Yennefer, as if the air had spat her out.

_ ‘MELITELE’s tits!  _ What the  _ f—uhhh…’ _ the bard yelped, biting back the swear last minute. The 2 adults got up, Jaskier stuffing his quill back in his shoulder bag, before slowly moving towards the girl.

Yennefer got up and simply walked to her. She was definitely young, straw blonde hair tied in a messy braid. She landed on her knees and hands, and Yennefer could see the ragged apron she wore above her brown pinafore. Something inside the mage wriggled out, like a past she kept buried. 

Crouching down, Yennefer extended a hand towards her, and she  _ felt  _ it. 

Almost at the same time, the girl jolted backwards, landing on her backside and scrambling on her elbows, dirtying her white sleeves. Her grey eyes were rabid, darting towards Yennefer, then Jaskier, then scanning the daffodil field wildly for a place to run.

‘We’re friends, we mean you no harm! Just...just calm down. You came out of nowhere, dropped out of the heavens like that. We just want to make sure you’re alright.’ Jaskier said, holding both hands up, sensing the young girl’s intentions to bolt. The girl, finally coming to her senses, stopped shivering.

Then she started crying softly, and Jaskier and Yennefer’s heart broke.

‘Oh, come here now, child. It’s alright; this old hag and I will take care of you, hm? Where’re your parents?’ Jaskier asked, embracing the child softly, using the ends of his pale purple doublet to wipe her tears. 

Yennefer crouched down and took the girls hand, before looking at the bard.

‘Jaskier...she had a conduit moment. She’s a source.’ 

‘Yes, and that means what, exactly? Do speak in lay-man, non-magical terms please.’ Jaskier asked, not bothering to hide his confusion. Yennefer rolled her eyes.

‘This girl is a source. For Chaos; for magic. She must have unintentionally opened a portal to escape or something. This field— it has a touch of magic around it, must be why it was easier for her to portal here.’ Yennefer explained, hauling herself and the girl up. Jaskier nodded, seeming to understand, but also not really. 

‘So, what, she’s a mage? She can do all the things that you can?’ he asked, and the girl suddenly snatched her hand away from Yennefer, before burrowing into Jaskier.

‘No! I-I can’t do magic, I can’t! Y-you don’t understand. They’ll never allow it. I— the flower beds—and and the pots- I didn’t mean it! _I didn’t I didn’t I didn’t_ -’ the girl rambled, gasping for air as she cried. Yennefer grabbed her roughly, trying to still her.

‘Calm down, just, just  _ listen _ to me. Follow my breathing. What do you mean you didn’t mean it?’ the mage asked, eyes flashing purple. When the girl refused to answer, Yennefer tightened her grip, crumpling the girl’s sleeves.

‘What did you  _ mean,  _ child? Did you hurt anyone?’ she asked urgently. Absentmindedly, she could feel someone tugging at her, before Jaskier nudged her away with one hand, the other one wrapping itself around the girl.

‘What are you doing, interrogating her like a criminal? She’s hysterical, Yen, look at her.’

‘She’s in danger, you fool, and she might have caused some as well. I have to bring her to Aretuza-’ 

Yennefer cut herself off when she received a slight jab from Jaskier. The bard was glaring at her, wordlessly asking her to  _ shut up. _

Yennefer relented, and allowed the crying child to wail into Jaskier’s doublet. He gently stroked her hair, calming her with honey-sweet words, before plucking a daffodil and sliding it into her hair.

Jaskier gently smiled at the girl, and waited silently with a patience Yennefer never knew he could possess, before the girl had calmed down enough to breath normally. 

‘You’re alright, my child, see? You’re here, in... whatever this town is called, here in Redania. You’re fine.’ Jaskier said, assuring the girl she had not portalled to somewhere unknown.

Suddenly, said girl shot up, stock still and wide-eyed. 

‘I didn’t leave the town? I—oh no. Oh,  _ no _ , please, you’re an  _ ACTUAL _ witch, the folks here don’t like that!’ she said, turning to Yennefer. The mage furrowed her brows, before the girl whimpered at the sight of something behind her, and Yennefer followed her gaze.

Jaskier, as eloquently as one can get, barked out a ‘ _ What’ _ when they saw a town mob approaching them, pitchforks and torches, daggers and stockers at the ready, the whole shebang brought out to greet them.

The 3 of them got up, Jaskier and Yennefer subtly shoving the girl behind them. Someone in the mob startled, and the crowd halted a feet away from them.

‘There, that’s her. Brought chaos into her home; poisoned the grounds and broke her mother's flower pots.  _ That _ one must be a proper witch, then;  _ devils bringing their devil spawns around. _ ’ a woman yelled, and Yennefer felt the fire inside her rear its head.

Someone shouted for Jaskier, to get away from them, and the bard seemed to have taken great offence to that. ‘You lot are great conservative oafs, aren't you? This one is barely of age, and my dear friend here is trying to help her. Don’t speak of something as if you  _ know _ about it.’ he hissed.

The crowd shifted, and the people started unsheathing weapons and rearing back stone-filled hands. Jaskier crouched down to grab the dagger in his boot, before he felt a push.

The girl stepped backwards, the ground around her blackening. Daffodils wilted and withered, before the girl screamed  _ ‘Leave me ALONE! _ ’, and a force pushed everyone around her off their stance.

Jaskier, again, was reminded of a certain event during a Cintran court, before he saw the girl run off. Getting up, he barely had time to register the mob advancing on them, before Yennefer threw her hands out, and a similar force pushed the mob back several feet.

He did, however, catch the black powder that was hurled towards the mage, and grabbed Yennefer before she could get a face full of it. The mage stumbled and coughed, and clawed at her throat, before her eyes widened. 

‘Fuck...those bastards...they used dimeritium powder-’ she stumbled and retched, Jaskier holding her steady. 

‘We...we need to find her. I can’t use my magic very well in this state, the powder has side effects on mages.’ 

‘Could’ve fooled me, from the way you were stumbling and gagging about.’ Jaskier commented, the 2 of them running towards the direction of the girl. As it appeared, the mob were hot on their tails, both parties heading towards a cluster of back alleys, nooks and cranny. Ideal for a small girl to hide in.

Jaskier dared a look backwards, before grunting unceremoniously. ‘We have to shake the mob off, first. They’re split into finding both you and the girl, but you pose more of a threat, so I’d wager they’d send their best for you.’ he stated, hands shuffling inside his shoulder bag. Yennefer secretly wished she was wearing pants, cursing as the ends of her dress threatened to stumble her and tear. 

Running and turning at every split way and alley, the 2 of them did their best to out-maneuver the mob chasing at them. A twisted game of cat and mouse, except with a whole litter of felines surrounding their prey in a maze.

Panting, Yennefer clenched her hands in efforts, trying to reach out and follow the faint trail of magic she felt. She grabbed Jaskier by the elbow and led them to a narrow corridor that split into 2. Both led to dead ends. One, however, had a small hole broken into the wooden planks of a make-shift wall.

‘No, don’t go there. Chances are, the girl crawled through that, and if we lead the mob to her, you won't be the only one with demitirum in your system.’ Jaskier said. 

‘It’s dimeritium, bard.’ Yennefer corrected, before being jerked aside.

Hastily, Jaskier grabbed a nearby crate and shoved it in front of the hole, hiding the exit. Following that, he grabbed Yennefer’s hand and led them to the other route with a similar wooden wall, but with no clear escape.

‘What are you doing?!’ Yennefer asked, a hint of panic in her voice. She could hear the mob catching up to them, following the disturbances they left in their wake. At the corner of her eye, she could see Jaskier roll up the sleeves of his doublet.

‘Trust me, now get up,’ he commanded, hands cupping into a makeshift foothold. ‘I’ll boost you up, then grab that ledge and try to swing yourself over the wall. Pray that there’s something to cushion your fall.’ 

Confused, but not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Yennefer gathered her skirt and roughly tied a knot to bundle it together. Stepping on Jaskier’s hands, she yelped as the bard pushed upwards with surprising strength, launching the mage up, allowing her to grab the ledge of the rooftop nearest to her. Clawing at the edge of the wall, Yennefer could make out the sounds of angry mobs heading their direction, the glow and shadows from their torches and pitchforks bouncing off the brick walls in the evening light.

Barely stradling the top of the wall, Yennefer watched as Jaskier tied a bandana around the lower half of his face, taking a running start and jumping off one of the walls before grabbing the ledge and kicking off the opposite wall, boosting himself over the wooden barrier. He dropped to the ground the same time as Yennefer did.

‘How did-’ the mage was cut off, when Jaskier shoved another similar bandana cloth to her. He took out his shoulder bag, and grabbed a handful of crushed purple flowers with a piece of cloth. Unclasping his lute case, Yen watched as another vial of grey-ish powder was sprinkled onto the flowers, before realisation dawned on her.

Jaskier smirked as he tied off the makeshift bomb with a loose knot, attaching a piece of string around it. 

‘Could you light a magic-ky flame for me?’ he asked, just as the 2 heard the sound of the mob arriving where they once stood, clumped together opposite the wooden barrier.

Wordlessly, Yennefer summoned forth a small ball of fire in her palms to set fire to the ends of the cloth sack, sweating from the toll it took on her. She could feel her magic returning, but it wasn't enough.

Luckily, it seemed sufficient for Jaskier. Smiling underneath his mask, the bard stood up, stepped backwards, and, using the string attached to the cloth sack, swung and threw the lit package across the barrier. 

He grabbed Yennefer roughly, pulling her away from the wooden barrier as much as possible. A ‘ _ boom’  _ was heard on the opposite side, and the sounds of people gagging and choking and coughing resonated within the corridor, before silence overtook them.

Yennefer stared at the wooden barrier, not daring to breathe. Then she stared at Jaskier, who was looking slightly proud of himself. 

‘Secret powder mix with some nightshade. I considered using gunpowder, but that might have ignited  _ before _ I threw it over the wall’ he said, and Yennefer gaped.

‘Why do you have nightsh- whatever. Fine. We have to find the girl.’ she said, feeling her power come back a bit more, after waiting out for the nightshade gas to dissipate. ‘I’m going to break the barrier, then we make a dash for that exit on the other side. I think there’s still some people on the other side; you good with a weapon?’

Jaskier shot her a feral grin under his bandana, not that the mage could see it. She knew he did, though, judging from the twin stilettos he whipped out from his lute case. 

What the  _ fuck,  _ since when does a lute case bear things that could kill a man? 

_ Focus, Yennefer. Prodding the bard can come after. _

Shooting her arms forward, Yennefer shouted with fury, the wooden barrier breaking and splintering under her power. Whirring into action, the few people on the opposite side tried to dodge flying pieces of wood from hitting them, only to have Jaskier stick his knife into their flesh.

Unsheathing her own dagger, Yennefer twirled and slashed at her attacker, dropping low to miss a swing at her head. At the same time, Jaskier rolled and cut the legs of 2 more people, allowing Yen to knock them off guard and strike. Kicking the crates aside, Jaskier used his lute case as a makeshift shield, pushing off a stray hit while Yennefer dashed into the exit hole. 

Feeling the sickly sweet and dizzy spell from the nightshade, Yennefer yanked Jaskier into the exit, clamping down on the bandana covering her nose and mouth. The 2 staggered into a steady run, taking off their protection and coughly liberately. 

‘Well, that was fun, wasn’t it? I knew those flowers would come in handy.’

‘We could have easily inhaled the poison ourselves you  _ fool.  _ I knew you were an idiot— I didn’t know you were a suicidal one!’

Jaskier shot her an award-winning grin, the smile not falling as he followed Yennefer’s lead. She turned right, driving forward—before skidding to a halt, and backing, smacking into the bard.

An indignant yelp was heard, but it wasn't from Jaskier.

Bending down, the mage and the bard slowly approached the young girl, curled into herself, sunk into the heap of hay and straw on the ground. Her breathing was rough, tear tracks staining her face. Yennefer did her best to ignore the subtle darkening and withering of the hay around the girl.

‘What’s your name? I’m Yennefer.’

*

They portalled into the front porch of a modest cottage, the daffodil field blanketing the east of the house. Yennefer gently squeezed the girl’s hand as she led them out of the portal, ignoring Jaskier’s stumble and confuzzlement from using a portal for the first time.  _ Amateur _ . 

The door creaked open, and a woman rushed out, her husband in tow, while 2 small curious heads peaked out from the doorframe. Yvonne, the young girl, broke out of Yennefer’s grip, running to her parents.

Before stopping abruptly, and letting her eyes dare a sneak at her mother and father.

Jaskier was the one who broke the silence.

‘I’m guessing this is one of the few towns that doesn’t harbour a working mage. You lot have a bad history with magic users, don’t you.’

Yvonne’s father, a thin man with a slight stubble, nodded before Yennefer could snort at Jaskier’s assumption.

‘Aye. Magic, mages,  _ chaos—  _ they corrupt. I seen it with m’ own eyes. Men an’ women lose their sanity. Blubber utter nonsense. An’ the competent ones? Play us all fer fools, a political chess piece.’ he spat, almost spitting on the ground if it were not for his wife’s grip on his arm.

‘The ones who ‘ _ utter nonsense _ ’ arise from children with magic not being taught how to control it. If you suppress their potential, you render them into insane, slobbering oracles.’ Yennefer scoffed. 

‘And, judging from the  _ warm welcome _ my friend’ _—_ she could not believe she was gesturing to Jaskier _—_ ‘and I received, ignoring children with magic is common practice. Perhaps if you allowed established mages to train them, you wouldn't have men and women ‘ _ losing their sanity _ ’.’ 

Yvonne’s eyes widened, and her parents averted their gaze from their daughter, or the mage lecturing them. Not that Yennefer needed to see the look in their eyes. Guilt was seeping out of them as it was.

‘But that’s not it, is it?’ Jaskier interjected. ‘We’re in the region of Gustfields. The last time you had a mage working here, they sold off your land in favor of the richer families past the daffodil fields, didn’t they? Then pretended like your village was always this small, surrounded by a bunch of flowers.’

The bard nodded towards the vast expense of yellow-bell flowers, rippling like waves, a calm after a storm, so it seemed. Jaskier turned back, looking straight at the family in front of him.

‘This field is what’s left of your village. The one your mage razed and cleared off, before covering it up with daffodils. You lost a good part of your home to stuck up nobles and a bias sorcerer.’

Yennefer stared at Jaskier, a matter-of-fact tone not quite matching his outfit, but perfectly framing his gaze. She thought of the stumbling man-boy that she had to heal, the quivering lark that screamed Geralt’s name whenever he was mildly inconvenienced. 

Seems like she’s not the only one being able to play a pretty face.

‘Let me take Yvonne to Aretuza. It’s a place where children like her can grow and learn magic. Learn to use it for court, for  _ good.  _ If a sorcerer is the cause of your distrust; if a lack of knowledge on how to approach boys or girls with magic causes discord, then let her come back to right any wrongs. Let her become the sorceress your village wished it had. If she wants to, of course.’

Yennefer offered her hand towards the girl, neither pushing it nor retracting. Jaskier could see the hesitation in her parent’s eyes. 

‘Oh! You  _ might _ want to know that there’s a mob after her _—_ not that Yennefer or I would let them harm her. But, just so you know, they have pitchforks. They’re a mob. Angry people.’

*

Yvonne hugged her siblings goodbye, as Yennefer exchanged words with her parents. That said and done, she turned to Jaskier, who was staring ahead at the daffodil field.

‘How did you know about what happened to their village? Why didn’t you warn me sooner?’

Jaskier shrugged, a tug on his mouth. ‘I guess I was lost at the beauty of the flowers. They seemed so perfect, like painting over a bad spot on a canvas.’

Yennefer narrowed her eyes at the bard, half-mindedly centering herself to open a portal to Aretuza. She agreed to bring Jaskier along, since the 2 of them  _ did  _ intentionally harm the mob, if only for self-defense. No point losing their lives just because some people inhaled nightshade or took a stab to the knee. 

‘You still didn’t answer my question. How did you know about the field, and the sorcerer?’ Yennefer pursued. The bard simply looked at her, as if he knew something she didn’t. 

Which he did.

‘Well, I was involved with the Redanian Secret Service for a while. You would find that I know things I really shouldn't.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was SO delighted to find out that Dandelion actually did work as a spy (not willingly but like screw canon right).  
> I'm sorry if most of yall wanted mor action based stuff, but I wanted to showcase more of Jaskier's secret knowledge that helps his case as being a feral murder bard. 
> 
> Next chapter is Vesemir, which is high in demand, so watch out. Hope I do it justice!

**Author's Note:**

> Any other characters you’d like to interact and find out about Jaskier more stubby talents? Comment and let me know ;)


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